


Christmas 1994

by helsinkibaby



Series: The Pieces of my Life [3]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Het, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:44:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first kiss...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas 1994

It is Christmas of 1994 when he kisses her for the first time. It's not something that he's planned, not something that he's dreamed about. For the past couple of months since that first meeting, he hasn't been hatching schemes of seduction; he's simply been her friend. That's all he's wanted to be, as he moves from girl to girl with dizzying speed, much to the amusement of his friends, Ellie included.

Because she is the one who stays the course, the one who never wavers. She's the one who listens to him spout about his crush-du-jour, listens to him with a smile on her face and much of the time with helpful advice up her sleeve. Sometimes, Greg catches John looking at them curiously, and there have been times when his roommate has asked him point blank if something is going on, but Greg always answers no, that they are just friends, and they are.

Besides, it's not as if Ellie's had any great designs on him either, at least, not as far as he can tell. The lovely Miss Bartlet is never short of an escort for a social function, even if, in Greg's opinion, every single guy she goes out with is a loser who's not good enough for her. He doesn't say that out loud though, because he knows that Ellie wouldn't take kindly to it; also that John would look at him, lift one eyebrow in that way he has and say, "Really?" with about seventeen extra syllables in it.

He's man enough to admit though, that there are differences between his dating habits and Ellie's. He knows, from things Ellie has mentioned, from locker room talk among the guys, that all her dates end at the dorm room door, that no-one has ever been invited inside, and that those who have tried have been met with firm rebuttal and in one memorably well-documented case, a black eye. The lovely Miss Bartlet has quite the right hook it seems, and since learning that, Greg has made it a practice not to piss her off.

Well, most of the time.

The rest of the time, he does it just to see her face turn that funny colour, and eventually, if he's lucky, to get her to burst out laughing.

The lovely Miss Bartlet, he's discovered, has one of hell of laugh, and one hell of a smile.

That's what he's thinking as they make their way back towards her dorm, walking close beside one another, hands in their jacket pockets. It is one o'clock in the morning and they're the first to leave the party, but she has an early class in the morning, and he has a test tomorrow afternoon that he hasn't even started studying for yet. He's telling her that he's going to have to start studying the second that he gets back to his room, and she's laughing, wondering why he always lets himself get caught out that way.

"Never again," he says yet again, and this time, he swears he means it. "I'm turning over a new leaf... my New Year's Resolution."

He's being serious, but she's laughing even harder, head thrown back, stars shining in her eyes. She looks lovely he thinks, beautiful even, though not in the same way as the girls that he usually dates are beautiful, all perfect hair and perfect teeth, fabulous skin and fabulous figures. Ellie's beauty is quieter, comes from within, and, here like this, he thinks it's more beautiful than the other kind.

Then he remembers that she's Ellie, and she's his friend, and he thinks he may have had too much to drink, despite his promises that he was going to take it easy.

"I've heard that one before," she is telling him, and he has to make himself concentrate on her words. "Face it Greg, you're doomed to procrastination."

He looks at her, possibly the only college freshman in America who can, after a fraternity Christmas party, remember a word like "procrastination", let alone what it means and its pronunciation. She is grinning up at him, long hair blowing about her face, and his hands suddenly itch with the desire to push it back behind her ears, and thereafter run his hands through it.

He reminds himself again that this is Ellie, that she's his friend, and that he's never drinking again, though he knows he did take it easy, and there have been many times over the last few years that he's been far worse than this.

But now she's looking at him strangely, and he realises that she's waiting for him to reply, so he jams his hands deeper in his jacket pockets in an effort to quell their traitorous desires, and shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. "Sad but true," he says mildly, but this is Ellie, and she is his friend, and she's not going to be content with that.

"You ok?" she asks him, eyebrows knitting together in a frown. "You're acting kinda quiet."

He shrugs again, opens his mouth and lies to her face. "I'm fine," he tells her. "Just a little chilly tonight."

He remembers too late that this is Ellie Bartlet he's talking to. "You think this is cold?" she asks, amazement stamped in every syllable. "If we were in New Hampshire right now, we'd be walking through snow drifts, wrapped up in coats, with hats and scarves and gloves and we'd still be freezing." She tilts her head then, looks him up and down. "In fact, knowing you, I'd probably be trying to pull you up from in front of a passing car because you decided to make snow angels."

She's smiling again, and a sudden image enters his mind; her, all bundled up as described, flakes of snow caught in her hair, her cheeks pink with cold as her breath forms in little white puffs around her. He sees her laughing as she looks down at him, doing just what she'd said, making snow angels, and he sees her pulling him up, sees him exaggerating the force that she used, stepping into her and putting his arms around her waist...

He forces himself back to reality before that thought can continue, and she's definitely looking at him strangely now. "Are you sure you're all right?" she asks him again. "You didn't mix your drinks or anything? Because I've seen what happens when you do that..."

He looks down, clears his throat, because he remembers a few nights where they've been walking home like this, only for him to make an unscheduled porcelain bus stop. He wishes that tonight his problems were that simple. "Worry not Miss Bartlet," he tells her, attempting to make a joke out of things by bowing low, as if she was a queen at court. "I shall not be calling on your nursely services this night..." He pauses then, tilts his head and gives her the most salacious smirk he can muster. "Though if you're into that..."

He lets his voice trail off suggestively, and as hoped, she laughs, uses a touch of that famed right hook of hers to punch him in the arm. "In your dreams," she retorts, and he doesn't tell her how right she is. By now, they've crossed the campus and reached his frat house, and she stops by the steps, looks up at the front door. "Look, you go on in," she tells him. "My dorm's only a little walk over... I'll be fine."

"No way." Greg doesn't even have to think about it. "Do you know what can happen to young women who walk alone at night?"

Ellie gives him a look. "You sound like my father," she tells him dryly, and, as it always is when she mentions her father, all traces of amusement are gone.

"Be that as it may," Greg continues, tucking his arm securely through hers and starting to walk again. "I promised to walk you home... and I happen to be a man of my word."

She giggles, falls into step beside him. "Fine, fine..." They walk in silence for a while, then she looks up again, studies the night sky. "Look at all those stars..." she murmurs. "Aren't they incredible?"

His traitorous mind tells him that the sky is nowhere near as lovely as her face, but he bites back those words. Instead, he concentrates on the part of the conversation that he knows plenty about; the constellations and their names. He points out each one as they walk, tells her the name and the stories behind them, and she listens entranced, or so he thinks. It's only when they get to her dorm, are standing by the stairs leading up to the front door, that he takes a good look at her face, the tiny smile hovering around her lips.

And then he remembers some of the other things she's said about her father.

"You've heard these stories before haven't you?"

She shakes her head, eyes innocent, but not quite innocent enough, then the shaking turns to nodding, her look apologetic. "Several times a year," she admits, shrugging. "My dad does a great line in trivia."

"You could have said."

She shrugs again, and he's sure he can see a blush rising on her cheeks. "I like hearing your stories," she tells him, her eyes meeting his with a smile, before she looks down sharply, as if embarrassed.

"I like you listening to them."

The words are out before Greg has time to stop them, and he holds his breath for what seems like forever before she lifts her head to look at him. At first, her face is blank, expressionless, but then a smile breaks over it, and he thinks, not for the first time tonight, what a lovely smile it is.

Right after that, his hands give in to their impulses of minutes earlier, reaching up to her face, brushing her hair back carefully, tucking it behind her ears.

He knows he should let them fall once that's done, but he doesn't, instead chooses to let them linger on her cheeks, to feel the warmth of her skin, and the smile that she gives him is more than a little hesitant. "What?" she whispers, and he can hear the nerves in her voice, just as he can feel them coursing through his own system. "You finally got me under the mistletoe?"

Greg doesn't blink. "Nope." That's all he says before he leans in, brushes his lips against hers. They are soft and warm, opening to him and deepening the kiss as her arms slide around his waist and his hands move up her back. It's a good kiss Greg knows, the kind of kiss that comes along all too infrequently, the kind of kiss that usually leads somewhere when it does, but then he remembers that this is Ellie, that she is his friend, and that this is a really bad idea.

Which doesn't explain why he doesn't pull back from her when that thought occurs to him, why he only pulls away when the need to breathe becomes overpowering.

That's when he finds himself staring at her, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed. He swallows hard, sees her do the same, and she bestows on him a shaky smile. "That was..." he tries, but he can't quite come up with the right word.

"Unexpected?" she guesses, and that will do as well as any, so he nods.

"Yeah." He pulls in a deep breath, takes half-a-step back from her, sliding his hands around and down so that they are holding hers. "Look Ellie, I don't know what happened here..."

Ellie interrupts whatever he might have been going to say, squeezing his hands. "A little alcohol... a little Christmas magic... maybe something we needed to get out of our systems..." She tilts her head to one side, moves one shoulder up and down. "You don't have to come up with a way to let me down easy Greg... these things happen."

She's taking it better than he might have thought, which is to say, way better than him. He blinks, feeling like he's been hit by a feather when expecting a brick. "So... you're ok with this?"

"I'm a big girl Greg," she tells him quietly. "And there are worse things in the world than kissing one of my best friends."

She says it like she knows what she's talking about, and it's on the tip of his tongue to ask her, but he doesn't get a chance. Before he can, she stands up on tiptoe, kisses his cheek quickly and runs up the stairs to the front door. Once there, she turns around. "Night Greg."

She doesn't move though, and neither does he, which gives him time to ask his second question. "We're ok... right?"

A wide smile spreads across her face. "Always."

He wants to believe her, and she's a lousy liar, so he does. "Good." A pause. "Good night Ellie."

She nods, then turns, opens the door and slips inside. Greg watches her go, but when she's out of sight, it's a long time before he turns back towards his dorm.

Once there, it's even longer before he goes to sleep.  



End file.
